gravity
by anillegiblemess
Summary: ivan is destroying himself. and he doesn't know why.
1. one--

_one-_

He would wonder why he picked up the habit sometimes. Sitting in the living room, head in his hands, repeatedly telling himself it wasn't that bad. There were worse things. There... There had to be worse things, right?

Taking the neck of the vodka bottle in his hands, he put the opening to his lips and tilted his head back and downed the rest of the clear, lethal liquid. His throat burned in response, a fire lit in his esophagus and belly. Oh well, it was better than nothing. Perhaps using this he could curb his aching want for the other weapon he had.

No, not really. He found himself still stumbling on over to the bathroom, gripping the walls, trying to stop himself. He had to stop himself. It was growing too strong. And he... Well, he was too weak. To continue fighting. There was no use fighting, it had him by the collar, was dragging him along helplessly, was taunting him. It was all he wanted. That was it.

He fell into the bathtub, not turning on the water, sticking his bare arms to the cold porcelain, trying to numb himself. He had to stop feeling. Had to quit. Had to... Oh, fuck it. His hands were already around the powdery substance, already grabbing the needle, already tightening the rubber tubing around his upper left arm, already putting it in, tenderly, like his arm was the virgin on his bed. Release. Already. Already. All ready. Set, go.

His lungs tightened. His breath hitched. Sweat pooled on his brow. The high began as soon as his veins filled with the venom, rushing to his brain, giving off sweet euphoria, so close he could taste it, envelop its light until he was warm like the sun. Giving up his cold heart. Giving up the brutality his mind made him feel everyday, until there was nothing left besides the snug feeling in his aching appendages. And then he melted into nothingness, as it all faded and he was thrown into a swimming circle of laziness, the kind of tired one feels in their bones after they have walked many miles and they are finally back home. Back in their bed. Asleep at last.

He awoke later from his peaceful slumber, still sweating, his skin sticky, curled up in the bathtub, the sound of his partner coming home from work, whistling through the hallways. Groggily, he pushed himself up and out, getting rid of anything that might concern his partner, shoving it into the deepest depths of the medicine cabinet beside the sink.

He opened the door, shambling out as his partner entered the bedroom, calling his name, "Glad you're home, Alfred."

Alfred smiled as he spotted Ivan, waltzing over with a spring in his step, hugging him and giving him a quick peck on the lips. Ivan strained to upturn his lips. He loved Alfred a lot, he really did. Besides heroin, he was the only other thing that could grant him the warmth he so desperately desired. But there was a change in his brain. It hurt to smile these days, though he grinned often. It was only because he was trying to tell himself he was still okay.

"You seem tired. Did you just wake up from a nap of yours?" Alfred combed Ivan's hair back with his fingers, wiping away the remaining sweat from his brow, a tad concerned at this discovery, "Are you warm or something?"

Ivan put his hand to his forehead, feeling the sweat. He grew flustered, and quickly stated, "No thanks, I'm fine. I just had a nightmare while I was napping. I was in the bathroom to wash my face." His left arm was burning, and he clamped it to his side, hiding the new red dots on his skin. He turned to his wardrobe and grabbed a jacket, putting it on, "I'm actually quite cold." He laughed awkwardly.

Alfred raised his eyebrows, "Okay... Well, I hope you had a good day while I was gone." He went back over to him and put his arms around the large, big-boned figure of Ivan. He gazed up at him and kissed him again, harder than last time, trying to edge his tongue inside Ivan's cheek.

He closed his eyes, but soon retreated, looking away, "No, not right now. I'm not up for it." Ivan mumbled, his voice husky. They hadn't had sex in a long time, mostly because of Ivan's sudden disinterest in it, a side effect of the drug he was addicted to. This did effect their relationship negatively and Alfred was always irritated at Ivan's unwillingness. Truthfully, not only was his sex drive lacking, but he was afraid to show Alfred his body after he had destroyed his arms. Bruises criss-crossed his skin, wounds were yellowed with pus from infections, scabs unhealed. The whole thing was still a secret. He had been doing this for nearly a year and hadn't told anybody, hiding himself constantly, lurking around, lying through his teeth about his whereabouts on the days he met his dealer. No, no one would understand. Alfred may break up with him if he ever found out. He would lose many friends. It was best to keep it all a mystery.

Alfred appeared disappointed, rubbing Ivan's back, and looking up at him with sincerity, "Are you sure you're alright? You just..." He trailed off. Ivan knew what was coming. They had these fights many times before and he was getting sick of them.

"Haven't been myself. I know. You don't have to remind me." Ivan moved away from Alfred, opening the bedroom door and heading for the kitchen. He grabbed another bottle of vodka from the alcohol pantry and poured himself a shot. Alfred wandered after him, but took a seat at the dining room table, watching Ivan prepare his drink through the open wall at the bar counter.

"Ivan... Do you still love me?" He stopped what he was doing and looked back over at Alfred. He was playing with his hands, folding them and unfolding them, nudging the silver ring on his finger. He looked like he was about to cry.

Ivan headed over with his shot glass and vodka bottle in hand, putting them in front of his chair beside Alfred and sitting down, resting a hand on his shoulder, "Of course I do. What makes you think I don't?"

"You just..." Alfred was scrunching up his face, grabbing onto Ivan's hand, "You seem so unhappy, so uninterested. We haven't made love in several months and you used to enjoy that a lot. You're always tired and napping and when I get home from my long shifts at work you don't do anything. We don't go out. We don't walk together. You're drinking too much again. You disappear God knows where some days and I... I just..." He broke down sobbing, burying his head in his arms.

Ivan didn't know what to do. He sat there with his hand on Alfred's shoulder and stared at him breaking down into tears on the dining room table. Out of desperation, he hugged him. He kept yelling at himself in his mind. Alfred was onto him; he knew something was up, there was no use hiding it now. He argued with his mind whether or not he should tell him, but with how unfaithful Alfred was in him now, it was probably not the best idea at the moment. Later. He should tell him later. After he's calmed down. After... Fuck, he didn't want to tell him. It was too risky. Everything was too risky. Maybe he'd be caught by the law before he told Alfred, so he wouldn't have to face him himself and tell him. Maybe Alfred would discover it on accident. No... That would turn out bad.

"It's okay, Alfred. I love you a lot, don't you ever doubt my love for you. I'm still here and I care about you and I want to see you happy. I'm sorry for being distant or far away from you. I'm so sorry. I'll try to fix it, okay? I'll fix everything. You'll see." He squeezed him tightly against his chest and eventually he calmed down enough and let go.

"I... I think..." He wiped away the rest of his tears, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the sweater he was wearing, "Ivan, I'm starting to think you're depressed. I mean... Once I started noticing you were changing I looked it up on the Internet and a lot of sources were saying you should see a therapist or something so... I don't know..." He looked back up at him.

Ivan looked away, draining his shot glass that he hadn't touched yet, "I'm not depressed, Alfred. I'm just... Going through a phase, or something." He poured more vodka into his glass, and then put it to his lips, downing it again.

"Even if you aren't I still want you to see a therapist. I just don't think it's a phase, it's been going on for months-" Alfred was interrupted as Ivan slammed his shot glass down on the table, nearly breaking it in his large hands.

"_I'm not fucking depressed!_" Ivan's voice bounced off the walls and echoed throughout the house. He was trembling with trapped in emotions, trying to hold back a more violent reaction. He sat there gritting his teeth while Alfred stuttered a quiet apology and went to pick up the shot glass and vodka bottle, running to the kitchen and putting everything away. When he came back, Ivan was already on his feet, ready to head back to the bedroom. He felt bad about suddenly screaming like that and came up to his partner, hugging him again, "Look... This... This isn't your problem to handle, I'm sorry. I have to deal with this. Please don't interfere."

Alfred was crying again, "I just don't want this to come between us. If you love me, you'd let me help you. I've helped you before when you needed it. I know you have your own problems. But don't forget that I'm here and that sometimes you can't fight battles on your own. Whether you're depressed or not, there's something wrong. People don't suddenly change like this. I'm worried about you, Ivan. I'm always worried about you. I... I don't want to lose you." He grabbed the back of Ivan's jacket, balled the fabric up in his fists.

Ivan closed his eyes, breathing in Alfred's sharp scented cologne, kissing the crook of his neck, "There's no need to worry about me. I'll be okay." He looked down at Alfred, and wiped the tears that fell from his cheeks off with his thumb, "It's late. Let's go to bed."

They both shuffled into the bedroom and got dressed into their night clothes, curling up beside each other in bed, Alfred spooning Ivan, two parentheses. Alfred fell asleep before Ivan, his snores gentle and his grip slack around his middle. Ivan peered through the darkness onto his night stand, staring at the _matryoshka _doll beside the lamp. It was an old family trinket of his, passed down by his parents. It was older than him; authentically made in the U.S.S.R. before it fell in 1991. His eyes then passed on over to the framed picture of Alfred and him on their wedding day. They had signed marriage papers the day it became legal in Florida. It was a good day, the wedding. Ivan was happy then. They had their wedding outside, in an old Civil War fort. It had suddenly begun to pour while they were cutting the cake, and they had to rush inside the old stone crafted hallways of the fort. Once the rain cleared, they went back outside and had to get rid of the ruined cake. Alfred promised to buy another cake (and he kept that promise). The fort officials fired a cannon into the distance at one point just for show. Ivan had kissed Alfred as they fired the cannon, later regretting the decision after the deafening boom created an awful ringing in both of their ears. They had gone home that evening, drunk off of the champagne, made love on the living room couch. It was so sappy.

Back in the present, Ivan was crying. Out of loss. Where had things gone so wrong? That smile he held in the photo was so real, not created out of lies and the want to be happy. It was genuine. But now that was gone. Ivan was unhappy. Alfred was growing scared. And tired. Ivan could see it in his eyes, he was so tired. And then there was the fucking heroin. The addiction. Why Ivan had started he hadn't a clue. Maybe he was tired before Alfred. Maybe he was always tired. Of everything.

But he didn't want to be tired. He wanted to be satisfied and full of life and euphoric. Euphoric without the need for chemicals. Pure euphoria. And it was there. He had food, money, a roof over his head, and a lover to keep him company. But why wasn't he happy? Why did he ache in his heart for something? He had everything, for the most part. He was crying harder, muffling his sobs so he wouldn't wake Alfred. He cried himself to sleep. And he dreamed about being out in a field back in his home country of Russia, the sky the deepest blue he had ever seen. Bluer than the ocean, bluer than Alfred's irises. He was on his back, staring up at the sky. The swish of the large stalks of wheat grass were music to his ears, the wind blowing through his platinum blond hair sprawled on the ground. He closed his eyes and breathed in oxygen, breathed out carbon dioxide. There was movement beside him. He opened his eyes and looked beside him and there was Alfred, looking off into the distance. He called his name. Alfred turned around. He had no face.

Ivan woke up screaming. Alfred wasn't beside him. It was eight A.M. He was already at work. Ivan stayed in bed a little longer but didn't go back to sleep. When it was later in the afternoon, he got up and got into the bathtub and got high. The cycle repeated. Over and over and over again.


	2. two--

On Saturday, when Alfred was off of work, they went on a walk to get lunch at a local sandwich shop. Ivan kicked stray rocks as he shuffled along the sidewalk. Alfred reached out for his hand and grabbed it and remained there. They were nearing their destination and had been quiet the entire time.

Alfred cleared his throat, "It's nice to get out of the house for some fresh air, right?" He looked at Ivan who was looking at the trees around them blankly. He then realized Alfred was talking to him and turned his head.

"Hm? I'm sorry, I didn't catch that." His voice was tired and drained, the opposite of alert.

Alfred sighed, "Never mind."

Ivan looked back down at his moving feet. He needed new sneakers, the one's he wore were tattered and old. Perhaps when Alfred got his next paycheck they could go shopping together, just like the old days, "How was your week? I never asked, I apologize."

"Don't apologize." Alfred waved his hand, smiling, perking up at Ivan's voice, "It was okay, I guess. I'm gonna get paid again next week, thank God. I was wondering if we would ever get paid in time for rent." They had been renting the house they were in for a while and pay was hard to come by. Alfred had been thinking about moving into a cheap apartment in the city but Ivan loved living just a mile away from the ocean and didn't want to move further inland.

"I was wondering once you got your paycheck if we could go shopping? We haven't done that in a while." Ivan sparked up the question in response to Alfred getting paid. Getting paid also meant meeting with his dealer again. He was running out of heroin rapidly.

Alfred looked at him, grinning wider, "That would be awesome!" He then frowned, scrunching his eyebrows together, "But, I don't know if I will get paid enough for that. We have to get groceries alongside paying for rent and utilities. Maybe I'll have _some _money leftover but I'm not positive I will."

Ivan felt bad about reminding his partner of their money situation. It had been a huge issue ever since the two started living together. Ivan didn't work, he didn't feel motivated to. After getting addicted to heroin, he had quit his job as a cashier at the local grocery store. Alfred didn't question him, surprisingly enough, but money issues weighed even heavier on his shoulders.

He remained silent until they got to the restaurant and he detached himself from Alfred's grasp. They went inside and ordered at the counter and sat down at the outside tables, waiting for their food. Ivan reached into his pockets and brought out a pack of cigarettes, taking one and lighting it, sucking on it, blowing smoke out of his mouth. He offered the pack to Alfred who gratefully took one. Ivan leaned over and lit his cigarette. The two sat in silence, puffing smoke and looking aimlessly around them.

It was hot outside, about seventy-five degrees, and Ivan was wearing a jacket. He scratched at the injection sites on his arms, sweating from the heat. Alfred looked at him in concern, "Are you hot?"

Ivan shook his head, wiping perspiration from his brow, "I'm fine." He continued to scratch furiously at his arm.

Alfred gave him an odd look, but dropped the conversation, observing his partner violently itch his arm, "Mosquito bites?" It was summer in Florida, so obviously the bugs were bad.

Ivan nodded, avoiding saying anything else. He was starting to get nervous. Other people were beginning to notice the two, eying them. Alfred started talking again, "Don't scratch at it, it'll only get more irritated." He placed his hand on Ivan's arm and he stopped scratching, concentrating on his partner's touch. It was very difficult to not touch the injection site; the wounds burned badly.

Alfred moved his hand to Ivan's head, brushing his oily hair and skimming his fingernails lightly over his pale cheek. Ivan closed his eyes and sighed. He took the cigarette from his mouth and snuffed it in the ash tray in the middle of the table. Alfred did the same, leaning over to kiss Ivan. In that moment he wanted to tell Alfred everything that was wrong. He was so tired of lying. He hurt. He hurt so much and he didn't want to anymore. He wanted help. He wanted Alfred to help him. He didn't care that they were in public, he'd tell him everything. Right now.

"Alfred-" They were interrupted by the waiter arriving with their food and Alfred pulled away, eying the sandwiches with greed. He would do anything for food. He dug in at once, biting off a mouthful of bread and everything in-between. Ivan on the other hand just stared at his meal, suddenly not hungry, though his stomach growled. He put his finger on the mushy bread, then took it off, watching the spongy material return to its original state.

After some minutes chewing his big bite, Alfred swallowed and looked in confusion at Ivan just sitting there, poking his food, "Why aren't you eating? It's delicious!" He took another bite, still watching his partner. Ivan looked up, then looked back and delicately picked up his sandwich, taking a nibble. It was pretty good. He continued to take small bites as Alfred cleaned his plate in a matter of minutes. He was about halfway into finishing his first sandwich when his stomach lurched and he had to put his food down. He felt nauseous. It was probably the heat getting to him.

"Is everything okay?" Alfred reached over his hand again as Ivan suddenly looked a lot paler than before.

"I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought I was." Ivan lowered his head, feeling bad about wasting food like that. It was even worse because of their monetary situation.

Alfred looked a little disappointed as well in his partner, but brushed it off, "It's no big deal. We can get a box for it so you can eat it later once you feel better."

Ivan nodded and pushed his plate away, placing his head in his hands. He felt feverish. He wanted to take off his jacket but that would risk showing off his stippling and bruises, "I want to go home..." He mumbled, sounding like a tired child complaining to his mother in a store.

Alfred squeezed his shoulder, "Go to the bathroom and splash your face with some water. It might make you feel better. I'll go ahead and pay, okay?"

He did as he was told and stood up, running off to the bathroom. As the cool air embraced his body he immediately felt a little better. He went to the bathroom and thankfully it was a one occupant only bathroom. He went ahead and splashed water on his face, turning one of the knobs until the liquid was freezing. He sighed in relief and turned off the water, drying his face with paper towels.

He then looked up at the mirror and observed his face. It was flushed of color, turning a sickly white. His hair was thin and bedraggled. The bags under his eyelids looked a lot more prominent. He touched them, hoping they'd disappear. It was a sign of illness, of insomnia. Alfred would know. Everyone would know. Even though he wanted so badly for his partner to understand his situation, the feeling had run away from him. Ivan gritted his teeth and headed back outside, trying not to cry.

Alfred was standing up by the time he got back, holding a plastic bag, already having paid for their meal. He took his hand and they walked back to the house, the sun once more beating down on Ivan's back. He was growing dizzy from the heat and hoped he would make it back without fainting. Alfred seemed to notice how much Ivan was swaying back and forth, for he laid a hand on his sweaty back and steadied him.

"Jesus, Ivan! You're gonna have a heat stroke! Take off your jacket."

Ivan shrugged Alfred off but he clung back onto him, staring at him intently. Ivan sighed and hesitantly took off his jacket, handing it to Alfred then quickly slapping his arms to his side. Alfred took his hand again and they walked back in silence.

As they entered their neighborhood, they spotted one of their neighbors washing his truck out on his driveway. He noticed the two and waved, sneering at the both of them, "Hey! It's the homo's out on their walk! What happened? Someone try to shoot at you? Good on them, I say!" He started laughing uncontrollably, obviously pointing out how white Ivan's face was. He gave him a piercing glare, fighting back the urge to run up and punch him, squeezing Alfred's hand fiercely. They had had issues with this man ever since moving in. Living in the south, the homophobic opinions weren't surprising, but they hurt nevertheless.

"Ignore him." Alfred said quietly and tugged him along back to their house at the end of the road. Once they got there, Alfred lead Ivan inside, and told him to get some rest. He was going back out to run some errands.

"I hope you feel better, okay? I'll be gone for about an hour." He kissed Ivan good-bye and got into his car, driving away. Once Ivan was sure he was gone, he went into the bathroom, stripped off his sweat-stained shirt, and got high.

Passing through stages of semi-consciousness after his bought of euphoria, Ivan thought about Alfred. He tried so hard to not fall asleep and think about only Alfred, about how much he loved him, about how once he got home he would kiss him and love him and everything would be normal again everything would be okay. But he was overcome by sickening sleep and he drifted off elsewhere until Alfred came back and he lied to him all over again.

–

That night, Ivan had strangely started to feel a craving for sex. It was sudden, abrupt, and he didn't expect it, laying there in bed with Alfred who was watching movies on the television in their bedroom. When he began kissing him, he couldn't stop, a ravenous hunger taking him by the wrist, digging deep into him.

Alfred was arching his back against his touch. Ivan was already inside him, panting and thrusting hard. He moaned Alfred's name, sucking on his neck, biting down. Alfred bit his lip, fighting back a fierce cry.

"I-Ivan... I'm gonna-"

"_Do it_." Ivan hissed, his thrusts losing rhythm as he neared orgasm.

Alfred scrabbled onto a hold for something. His fingernails scratched the sheets then flew to Ivan's arms, grasping and moving them upwards until he hit Ivan's injection site and stopped there, suddenly feeling the callouses and scars.

That's when Ivan panicked. He quickened his pace, hoping to distract Alfred, but he wasn't having any of it. He pushed back, shouting at him to stop until regretfully he did. His heart was beating fast against his chest as Alfred sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, reaching for Ivan's arms.

And there, he saw them, clear as day, all the stippling and bruised vessels, the scabs, everything. Ivan held his breath as his partner examined them all, an unreadable expression on his face. He rubbed his fingers all over the scars, then looked up at Ivan.

"... Why?" Was the only thing he said.

Ivan brushed his hair back, "I..." He stammered, looking for answers but there were none, "I-I just-I just wanted-" _Don't cry, don't cry._ He didn't cry, but he was on the verge of it, looking everywhere else but at Alfred to hide his face.

Alfred was speechless, putting his head in his hands, "Ah, shit... This is my fault, isn't it? Fuck..." He was the one who started crying, "Man, if I had just... Checked up on you or something. Kept you at a safe distance and noticed there was something wrong right at the beginning I could have prevented this. I'm sorry, Ivan." He wiped his tears away but more fell off of his cheeks.

Ivan looked back at him, shaking his head, "No... No, it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. Stop crying, please..." He hugged him desperately, but Alfred violently pushed him away.

"Why didn't you say something? You asshole!" He screamed, sobbing, raising his hand as if to slap Ivan, but instead bringing it down against his bare chest gently, balling it into a fist, "Now I have to worry about this as well as your sanity! You fucking asshole! You know I could have helped you, why didn't you come to me? No wonder our money has been disappearing more than usual... Goddammit, Ivan!" He sat there, yelling and crying and cursing. Ivan hung his head, closing his eyes and searching his brain for responses but there was nothing. There was always nothing.

"I didn't want you to worry about me... You have everything else to worry about I didn't want to get thrown into the picture." He mumbled, but it wasn't the appropriate response. Alfred looked like he was going to hit him again.

"Didn't want me to worry? I worry about you all the fucking time!" Shit, that was true. Though Alfred wasn't in any danger of much, Ivan still worried about him. It was what loved ones did.

Ivan sighed, "There's no excuse. I fucked up, Alfred. I fucked up really bad and I don't know why. I should have asked for help but I... I don't even know anymore. And now I don't know what to do. It's got me and there's no escaping it. I want help. I need help. I need you to help me." Tears leaked from his eyes and he wiped them away. Alfred had stopped crying and screaming and was running his hands through Ivan's hair, looking down.

"I can help you. Or at least try. But a lot of it is fucked, it's already been done. There's not much I can do." He unclenched his fists and rubbed them up and down Ivan's shoulders, still not looking at him.

Ivan rested his forehead into the crook of Alfred's neck, crying quietly. He felt like shit, physically and emotionally, "I'm sorry." He breathed, his weeps growing louder, "I'm so fucking sorry, Alfred." He repeated a mantra of apologies and Alfred just sat there, rubbing circles on his back, staring out into space.


	3. three--

_three_-

In the morning, Ivan woke up to an empty bed. He got up quietly, opening the bedroom door to find Alfred, laying his head down on his crossed arms. Several bottles of beer surrounded him and he appeared to be sleeping. Ivan stood there, leaning on the doorway and watching him until he stirred and looked in Ivan's direction. They stared at each other for a couple seconds then Alfred turned away, sighing.

Silently, Ivan slided over to him, sitting down next to him, the chair making a harsh grating noise on the tile floor. Alfred didn't say anything, just continued to look away. Ivan placed his hand on his shoulder. He remained quiet until he finally spoke a couple words.

"You know you can't keep doing this."

Ivan looked down at the fake wood of the dining room table.

Another pause, then, "You said you wanted a family. You know we can't have children if you keep..." He trailed off, getting nowhere as Ivan desperately tried to block out his words, "I just... You're not going to feel better if you do this, you do realize that, right? This isn't helping anything."

"It's not that easy to quit." Ivan said abruptly.

Alfred sighed, shifting so that Ivan's hand fell off of his shoulder, "Well, goddammit Ivan! what are we supposed to do? Sit around like this and just watch you waste away?" He whirled around, glaring at him.

Ivan still looked down, closing his eyes, "Maybe that's what I want..."

Alfred narrowed his eyes in disbelief, "Unbelievable," He got up, walking towards the master bathroom, "Un-fucking-believable."

Ivan stood up, walking after him as Alfred shuffled around in the bathroom, throwing things, opening up the medicine cabinet, apparently looking for something.

"Aha, found it." In his hand were the remaining packets of heroin Ivan had bought. A stash of needles was behind where the packets were, deep in the crevices of the medicine cabinet. He took those as well and also the rubber tubing beside the needles.

"What are you doing?" Ivan grabbed Alfred's shoulders, trying to pull him away, but he just shook his head and shrugged him off. He stood up and walked over to the toilet, dropping the packets into the bowl, then flushing.

"_Alfred_!" Ivan yelled. He wanted to move but he felt frozen to the spot. There wasn't much he could do. Alfred then dumped the needles out of their packet into the toilet, flushing, then finally, he snapped the rubber tubing in half and flushed that down as well.

Ivan stood there, speechless, stuttering and trying to find words, "W-What have you done...?"

Alfred looked over at him and shrugged, raising his hands in the air and looking confused. Ivan in that moment only wanted to strangle him and his smug face. But he did nothing. He was frozen in shock. He then snapped, finding himself at the bedroom wall, punching it and screaming at the top of his lungs, cursing out Alfred, and finally sobbing.

His partner watched him, uninterested, "I'm going to work. I'll be back in the evening." He left without another word, slamming the door to the garage behind him.

Ivan kept screaming, destroying the bedroom wall, but his punches grew weak. He slid to the floor, crying pathetically, resting his head against the now torn up wall. He didn't know why he was crying. Alfred was right, he didn't _need_ the heroin. It wouldn't make him feel any better about whatever he was going through, whether it be a phase of sadness or serious depression.

But he would have to deal with cutting his addiction cold turkey. It meant the violent withdrawal systems; the closest feeling to death Ivan could pinpoint. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a vodka bottle from the fridge, downing it in a couple minutes, then dragging himself to bed. Immediately, he fell asleep.

He had the same dream again. About being in a beautiful field of sunflowers with Alfred, and he would turn his head that had no face. Ivan woke up crying again and tried to go back to sleep only to see the same nightmare, the same images of Alfred lost from his view. And it kept getting longer every time. He would be stuck looking at Alfred's blank canvas of a face for longer seconds. Ivan would reach out and right before he would touch his partner's face, he would wake, panting and sweating up a storm.

The fifth time he awoke, his head was throbbing in pain and he felt feverish. He cursed underneath his breath as he felt the familiar pangs of withdrawal. Fuck, he needed it. He needed it so bad. _Stop that you don't need it, you don't need it, go back to bed, go back to sleep stop thinking about it so much._

He tried to not think about it. Walk into the kitchen and make food for himself or something. That was what sober people did, right? He hardly remembered what he used to do when he wasn't laying around and getting high. Goddammit. He thought about it. He looked around in the fridge for some ingredients, but it was close to empty. Alfred hadn't been paid yet and they still needed groceries. Maybe he could go out and get something? Fast food. That was cheap.

But going out also meant he would be tempted to meet his dealer and buy heroin. Hey, he still had money left in his wallet, right? To hell with what Alfred said, he could still get more. He went over to the counter near the door to the garage, fumbling for his wallet that sat there. He opened it to see how much money he had left, but there was nothing. He was dumbfounded. He had some dollar bills left, didn't he? He shook the wallet, but nothing came out, not even any change. He threw it to the ground with an aggravated growl. Alfred must have took out all of his money before he left, predicting Ivan would just go ahead and buy more heroin.

Fuck, now he was back to the starting point again. He shook his head (which only made his headache worsen) and considered just going back to sleep again. But his stomach growled in protest and he sighed, trying to find something to eat. He opened up the fridge and managed to find one final bottle of vodka. He screwed off the cap and drank it from the bottle, satisfying some part of his stomach. But he still needed a solid of some kind.

Thankfully, Alfred hadn't thrown out his leftover sandwich from the lunch they had on Saturday, and he decided to just eat that. He wolfed it down, took another big swig of vodka, and called it a day. He went back into the bedroom and laid down, but didn't fall asleep. He kept staring at that picture of him and Alfred on their wedding day on the bedside table, mesmerized, trying to remember his feelings at that exact moment the flash of the camera blinded them both. He reached over and gingerly picked it up, stroking the smooth surface of the frame with his thumb, then taking his hand and running over Alfred's still figure. He looked at himself smiling and tried to mimic his face, but it felt weird and wrong and incorrect. He wanted to cry. Instead, he gave a heavy sigh and hugged the photo tightly to his chest, never letting go.

At that exact moment Alfred entered the room, arriving home early from work, and saw his partner clinging onto the picture desperately, as if it was a lifeline. He appeared emotionless, standing a distance away from the bed as he addressed Ivan.

"Have you calmed down?" He asked.

Ivan just stared at him, then he nodded, "You're home early."

Alfred shifted his shoulders in a somewhat shrug, looking elsewhere, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, "Yeah, I just wanted to come check up on you, so..." He then looked back at the picture in Ivan's arms.

He immediately grew flustered, "Oh, sorry, I was just looking at it..." He placed it back up on the bedside table and Alfred came over, picking it up and observing it.

He sniffed a bit of a laugh, smirking as he examined the photo, "God, we both looked so goofy. What exactly were we doing before this?" He continued to twist the photo in his hands, craning his head and looking at it in different angles as if he was trying to decipher a hidden message.

"Drinking." Ivan bluntly stated, and he could have sworn he heard Alfred breathe out a snort, but it was so quick it must have been his imagination.

Alfred looked up at Ivan, still smiling surprisingly enough, but it was wistful and far away, "Kind of wish you would still smile like this." He said, then moving his blue eyes back to the picture.

"I still can, don't worry." Ivan attempted to prove himself by trying to copy his old smile again, but the unfamiliarity crept up on him and his stomach turned in anxiety and embarrassment. Alfred looked at him, and tried smiling back a little wider, but Ivan could see the pain in his movements, the slight cringe, the erratic jolt of his pupils as he switched his gaze to the wall. His smile faded fast enough and he placed the photo back on the table, clearing his throat and heading to the bathroom to take a shower.

At least the running water muffled the sound of Ivan weeping.

_God, just fucking kill me please._

Ivan twisted and turned in his sheets, covered in cold sweat, his head throbbing, the world dizzily tilting, his vision scrambled and odd. He felt like he was looking through a kaleidoscope. He turned over and vomited up whatever his stomach could muster into the trash can at the bedside.

_I need it. I need it so fucking bad I could kill myself please God I need it_.

Fuck, his head hurt. It felt like something up there was knocking on his brain. He reached up and grabbed his skull, pulling out clumps of his own hair and his stomach churned one more time. He tried to tell himself to calm down, he didn't need it. He could get through this. Withdrawal was hard but he could get through it and then he'd be happy again Alfred would love him again.

_I NEED IT. I NEED IT. I NEED IT. I NEED IT._

Ivan fell off his bed and scrambled to his feet, scratching at the wall and trying to gain support. He had to have it. He was unsuccessful in balancing and fell back on the bed, too exhausted to try again. He shuddered his eyelids closed and tried to think of something good.

But the same nightmare came to him. Alfred had no face. He reached his hand forward and touched Ivan's cheek and his face came into view but it was distorted and he was screaming in agony and there was blood everywhere, his blood, and his skin was rotting everything smelled rancid like spoiled meat and the sky was a brutal scarlet and there was no sun no sun anywhere. Alfred tried to speak but it came out in a garbled mess. An open wound in Alfred's stomach was staring at Ivan. His intestines fell out.

Ivan woke up screaming. That was it. He stumbled out of the bedroom and out of his house, running down the street, barefoot, in barely more than a sweaty T-shirt and pants. Some change jingled in his pockets and he hoped it was enough to cover the cost of heroin and the other necessary tools he needed to use the drug.

It was convenient that his dealer was present at the end of his street. He hung around at the corner for a while before he heard someone coming up behind him. He turned around and there stood his dealer, smiling, exchanging a greeting.

"Hey, man. It's been a while since I've seen you, where you've been? You look like shit." He chuckled a little and Ivan surprisingly smiled back.

"Yeah, I know. I need something right now to hold me over for a couple days." He walked towards him and his dealer looked up and down the road to see if anyone was coming. They wandered off deep into the brush.

"You've come to the right place my friend. Stay here, I'll get you what you need." Ivan grabbed some of the change in his pockets and offered it to him, but he turned down the offer, saying he would give Ivan the heroin for free because he looked so awful.

His dealer disappeared deeper into the woods, swallowed by the shadows of trees and plants before returning with the substance Ivan so desperately needed. He passed it to him quickly and Ivan immediately put it away in his pockets. His dealer waved a good-bye and Ivan trudged back to his house, already feeling better with his remedy in his pocket.

He had some spare needles and piping that Alfred didn't manage to find underneath his bed that he had nearly forgotten about. He grabbed his needed supplies and then it was off to the bathroom to get high. It felt weird and his stomach dropped because he knew what he was doing to Alfred. But he had tried so hard to remain sober, it was just too hard for him, especially in the mental state he was in. Hopefully, his partner would understand.

He stripped off his dirty shirt and stepped into the bathtub, sitting down and letting the cold porcelain caress his skin. He sighed at the sudden freeze of the smooth surface, but eventually got comfortable.

His fingers were shaking so hard that burning the powder into a liquid took forever. In the back of his mind he hoped his blood pressure wasn't low enough that he would have to jug himself. His fears proved incorrect because once he managed to tie his upper arm, finding a good vein wasn't too difficult and the high was instant. Once the drug reached his brain his breath hitched and his toes curled up and God it _felt so good_. Euphoria dawned on him and he grew incredibly warm and tingly on the inside as if he had swallowed the sun. Then, it went away, and he grew dizzy with sleep. He would have fallen into unconsciousness were it not for the sound of the front door opening.

Ivan attempted to get out of the tub, but he instantly fell face forward with a tired groan. He must have made a racket, because Alfred was yelling his name and his footsteps frantically quickened their pace to the bedroom. Ivan got to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. His head buzzed and felt like a bunch of static on a TV screen. He could feel himself leaning forward, close to fainting.

He stood in the bathroom doorway as Alfred entered, mid-way in shouting his name again before he saw his partner, lurching dizzily on his feet. Ivan smiled at him, his eyes focused on nothing in particular.

"You look diff-" Alfred stopped as his eyes froze on Ivan's left arm. Ivan looked down to where he was staring.

The needle was still in his arm.

"Oops." Ivan's voice was slurred to oblivion and his accent was incredibly pronounced because of the fact. He took out the needle and a tiny trail of blood peeped from the wound, trickling down his arm to the tips of his fingers then dribbling onto the carpet. He stood there, mesmerized, twisting and turning his arm, watching the blood create rivers of red all over his arm.

"Ivan." Alfred choked out, his voice small and meek. Ivan squinted up at him and noticed he was crying, covering his mouth, attempting to look away but he was frozen there.

"It'll be okay, _lapochka_. Yeah... Yeah it'll be fine." He tilted forwards, nearly stumbling onto the ground but he grabbed the walls for support again. He moved slowly towards Alfred, who kept standing there, seeming to be saying something but Ivan didn't hear it. His heart was pounding and his breath came out as a heavy wheeze. He managed to get right up to Alfred's face, towering over him. That's when Alfred tried to bolt, but Ivan took his arm and hugged him from behind, shoving his face into the crook of Alfred's neck and violently kissing him.

"Let go of me, asshole! Goddammit, fucking let go!" Alfred kicked and screamed and flailed around, tears streaming down his cheeks. Ivan didn't give up his grasp and smiled into his shoulder, continuing to talk in fragments.

"_Lyubov moya... Krasavitsa..._" He dug his teeth into Alfred's flesh, biting down and sucking until his vessels blossomed to the bite mark and formed bruises.

That did it for Alfred. He screamed out various insults and curses at Ivan before knocking his elbow into his large nose. Ivan fell down and blacked out.

When Ivan came to, he was sprawled out on the bed, still clothed. His injection site stung badly. He sat up, attempting to recollect himself and remember what had happened. It appeared to be morning. Outside, birds were chirping merrily in the dawn of a warm summer's day. Ivan yawned, stretching and ignoring the stinging wound. Alfred wasn't anywhere in site and the house was deathly quiet. Was he at work? Ivan's stomach twisted in an anxiety he didn't understand.

He opened the bedroom door and stepped out, only to immediately feel the smooth surface of a beer bottle underneath his foot. He retracted it and examined the floor to see if there was any shattered glass, but there was none. Just full beer bottles lazily strewn around the carpet. Ivan then focused on the dining room table.

There were papers everywhere, all jumbled up and in a chaotic mess. Alfred was still nowhere to be found, but an open suitcase was by the side of one of the two dining table chairs. Ivan moved closer to see what all the papers read, but was interrupted by his partner marching out from the little study room they had with his laptop and its charger in tow. He stopped when he saw Ivan.

"Oh." Was all he said, then he got back to work, placing his laptop and charger gently on the top of his clothes and zipping the suitcase closed.

"Alfred, what are you doing? Are you going on vacation?" Ivan didn't understand. But his heart beat rapidly against his chest and he tried to push away any negative thoughts from his brain.

"Yes, to fucking Disney World." Alfred stated, rolling his eyes and looking around for anything else to pack, "I'm going to Matthew's place."

Matthew was Alfred's brother who lived in Buffalo, New York, a couple miles away from the Canadian border "Oh... When will you be coming back?"

Alfred seemed to be satisfied with his packing and extended the suitcase's handle, holding on tight to it and looking straight at Ivan, "Never."

At first, Ivan thought Alfred was joking, and he smiled at him in spite of himself, releasing several giggles from his mouth.

"Guess this shows how seriously you took our relationship. Remember to sign all those documents and mail them to Matthew's house address. There's a note on the fridge in case you've forgotten it." Alfred pointed to the papers and turned to walk to the garage.

Ivan realized Alfred was being serious and he frantically grabbed some of the documents on the table, reading them underneath his breath then turning to Alfred who was walking out the door to the garage.

"Alfred... These are divorce papers!" _Dear God, please tell me this isn't true. This is just a nightmare, this isn't reality_.

Alfred stared emotionless at him, "I know." Then he disappeared into the garage, and Ivan heard the slam of a car trunk and an engine starting up. He paused for a second, realizing this wasn't a dream and then ran after Alfred who was pulling out into the driveway.

"Alfred! Wait, please!" The minute Alfred saw Ivan run out of the house after him, he backed out of the driveway as fast as he could and drove down the road of his neighborhood to the main highway. He looked into his car's side mirrors and saw that Ivan was still frantically running after him, shouting his name. He sighed and slowed down enough to where Ivan could catch up to him and rolled down the passenger window.

Ivan was panting fiercely, gripping the car and looking at Alfred with watery eyes, "Please... Please don't leave me I'm so sorry... I don't remember what I did but it was something bad enough to cause you to get up and go. But whatever it is I'm sorry. I love you, Alfred. I don't want you to leave my life ever, I want you to say with me until the end of my life. You want the same, don't you? That's what you said on our wedding day, remember?" Ivan smiled at him, but Alfred remained expressionless.

"Stop apologizing. None of that shit's gonna fix what happened. Honestly, who the fuck do you think I am? Going to apologize your actions just because you were high? We had a promise and you broke it, that's all there is to it. What were you even trying to do to me back there anyway? Rape me? Accepting your apology... Ha, funny. Get the fuck away from me."

Ivan sobbed, hiccuping and just appearing more pathetic in front of Alfred, "I don't know... I don't remember... I... Alfred, I love you... Please listen to me..."

For a second, Ivan thought Alfred might have changed his mind. He looked away, almost wistful in appearance, but then a frown appeared on his lips, "Good-bye, Ivan."

He rolled up his window and revved the engine, pulling away from Ivan. He frantically grabbed onto the sides of the vehicle, but his fingers slid with a squeak on the smooth plastic and he nearly stumbled as Alfred left him coughing in a cloud of exhaust fumes. He continued to run, but Alfred was already gone, the sound of the roaring motor just a memory now. Ivan stood at the entrance to his neighborhood. Shoulders slumped, not even collecting enough energy to cry or scream.

The sound of a front door opened and Ivan whirled around to find his homophobic neighbor sneering at him, obviously understanding what just went on.

"Well, at least you can actually find a woman now. Or just kill yourself." He cackled loudly and Ivan just stared at him, putting his hands to the sides of his head and stumbling back towards the direction of his house.

Killing himself really didn't sound like such a bad idea.


End file.
